Silence across from me.
“It’s what I do,” I said, an uncomfortable smile on my face. “Guess that makes me sound pretty stupid. Cowardly. But I don’t really feel comfortable talking with many people. Not in the way I did with you. I loved getting your emails too, Joe. I would get so excited when one arrived. So, yeah … I think I would have found reasons to not be able to meet face-to-face in case it all went wrong.”
He sat so still. “Like it did.”
“Yes.”
We stared at each other. Everything seemed to have been forgotten, to fade away. The room, the food, the whole wide world. I have no idea how he did it.
“Who lied to you?” he asked, taking a sip from his beer. “You said you couldn’t have another liar in your life. Who was it?”
I didn’t hesitate. “A boyfriend. He cheated on me. It was a very painful experience.”
Joe tucked his hair behind an ear, nodding. “Okay.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to say sorry. To apologize for being messed up long before he’d ever met me. I’d already revealed enough, however. Given him a close-up of my insides, the likes of which few had ever had. Time to stop and say no more. Time to run for cover.
CHAPTER NINE
Message sent two months ago:
Eric, that’s ridiculous. There’s no way they needed to kill off Han Solo. In fact, I hereby deny the very possibility. In my mind, Han will forever be flitting around the stars with Chewie, ripping off awful aliens and evading the authorities. I refuse to countenance any other possibility.
Message received two months ago:
Alex, be reasonable. Han had to go. He was always a man of action, so no way would he have been sitting around waiting while Leia went and tried to cuddle up to their psychopath of a son. I’m cool with Ren killing the misgonyist idiots along with Han, though.
Message sent two months ago:
You’re wrong about Han. And you spelled misogynist wrong.
Message received two months ago:
You’re wronger.
Message sent two months ago:
That’s not even a word. This conversation is over now. So there.
P.S. How’s things going at work? Is everything okay?
“Hey,” a new voice entered the room. Multiple pairs of heavy footsteps.
Joe recovered first, climbing to his feet. “Andre. Pat. Come meet Alex.”
The males did some handshaking, backslapping. First came a man who had to be about mid-forties at a guess. Touches of gray in his short dark hair. Wrinkles around his eyes and smile lines along his mouth. He wore navy trousers and a cool patterned button-down shirt.
“Hi, I’m Andre.” He held his hand down to me for shaking, smiling all the while. “Old friend of Joe’s. Pleasure to meet you. He’s been telling me all about you.”
“He has?” I don’t think my tone came out right on that one.
“Absolutely. Glad to see you out and about.” Andre sat, stretching out his legs and leaning back on his hands. “You feeling better?”
“I am. Thank you.”
The second guy wasn’t so friendly. Nor did he look approachable. For starters, he was covered in tats. Please note: In no way did I believe a love of ink made someone a serial killer. He was tall and lanky with long black hair, the sides shaved into an undercut. A beard, the length of which left Joe’s in the dust, obscured most of his face. And a silver ring pierced his septum. His clothes were uniformly black and kind of ratty-looking. Not unclean, just really well worn. The flat eyes and joyless mouth sealed the deal, however. Scary.
At least they made a perfectly timed distraction from Joe and my too serious discussion. Hoo ya to that.
“Hey.” The man tipped his head in my direction and sat also, plonking a six-pack of beer down beside the pizza. Immediately he broke one off, handed it to me.
“Thank you.”
“Alex, meet Pat,” said Joe, reclaiming his patch of floor. “We went to school together. He owns the tattoo parlor. Andre owns the building and runs the musical instrument shop downstairs.”
“I was downstairs with Pat, giving him a hand with the accounts.” Andre accepted a beer from Pat as well, drinking deeply. “Heard the footsteps up here and thought we’d come check things out.”
“With beer?” Joe finished off his first bottle and held a hand out for a replacement.
“You could have been thirsty robbers, ax murderers, serial killers.”
“Ghost hunters,” added Pat in a low voice.
Just like that, the guys dug into our pizza. Lucky it was big. Still, I took another slice before it was gone. Andre nodded, taking a bite. “True.”
“We did a séance up here once when we were kids.” With a sly smile, Joe moved a little closer. “Andre snuck up the inside stairs, making all these freaky noises. Scared the hell out of us.”
“That was the intention.” Andre grinned. “You little dickheads. Took me ages to get all the wax off the floor from the candles you’d been burning. Dad was pissed.”
It sounded like a soft rumbling, Pat’s laughter. Thunder coming in from a distance. Here and gone in a moment. I almost thought I’d imagined it. Nice to know the guy could manage some happy, however.
“How about the bird shit?” asked Pat, hiding what might have been a small smile behind his beer.
Muttering obscenities, Andre let his head fall back and gazed at the ceiling with a pained expression.
I gave Joe a questioning look.
“Vaughan had read in a book that you had to have a circle of thirteen candles and then sacrifice something to get a ghost’s attention. So he catches a sparrow,” said Joe. “Of course, when it comes time to end the bird, none of us could stand to hurt the poor little thing.”
“Nell was just about in tears, freaking out.” Pat studied his black Converse. “I knew she would. Brought a cricket in my pocket to sacrifice instead. It’d been eating her mom’s plants. Wasn’t going to live long anyway.”
“That’s right.” A quiet chuckle.
Andre watched Pat carefully, sipping his beer.
“The sparrow got loose and was flying around the room, going nuts. Then Andre starts in with his sound effects,” said Joe. “We lost it, bolting out of here like our asses were on fire.”
“There was wax and bird shit everywhere.” Andre laughed. “Lucky you idiots didn’t burn the place down.”
“That’s what you get for giving Vaughan a part-time job and trusting him with the keys.” Joe held out his bottle and Andre clinked his against it in a toast.
“True.”
“Has anyone ever seen a ghost here?” I asked, fascinated. Mostly disbelieving, though you never knew.
Andre’s tongue played behind his cheek. A droll, dubious look in his eyes. “There’s nothing here.”
“Tell her the truth,” said Joe, playing it serious. “What are you trying to hide?”
“Jesus.” Andre sighed. “Legend has it a guy threw himself down the staircase after getting dumped by some woman. Broke his neck.”